


A Fine Line

by zenonaa



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Dangan Ronpa: Another Episode
Genre: F/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 14:43:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8060527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenonaa/pseuds/zenonaa
Summary: 'Byakuya thanked ten gods that he was alone because he groaned. Quietly, let it be known, but he groaned like it was the sort of thing that people groaned at.'Togami can sense Fukawa’s fantasies and one gets pretty vivid. He realises she can hear him and to avoid being found out, he plays along with it.





	

The first time happened long before Byakuya’s confinement in this cell. Several months prior, in fact. Sakura had died last, and he climbed into bed that night with a tight throat and flaming eyes but no tears. His mind conjured an image of Kyouko’s face, embellishing it with a smirk and a background buzz of snickering because everyone must have felt so amused and smug about how wrong he had been during Sakura’s trial.

No one actually laughed, but he almost wished they had.

He took longer than usual to fall asleep, but before he did, it happened. A crawling sensation in his skin. Like a stink bug scuttling below the surface. 

Back then, he dismissed it as a random shiver. Those existed. Over the next few days, the incident became buried in the recesses of his mind, but the memory sprouted when he was in the library one night and the weird sensation rolled through his body again. 

Byakuya thanked ten gods that he was alone because he groaned. Quietly, let it be known, but he groaned like it was the sort of thing that people groaned at. He opened his eyes, which had shut without his permission, and focused on his book, thighs pressed together until he could relax them and feel no tension pulling them closer. 

Though he experienced similar unwanted bodily functions sporadically afterwards, always at night, one particular instance led him to linking all of the previous ones to a single instigator. 

No longer in the school, he and the others who survived Junko Enoshima’s killing game had been stationed in a block of apartments. He was in bed after a day of work, drifting off to sleep, when his body tensed at the emergence of a voice.

**“Fukawa... Remember our promise....”**

The voice in his head sounded like his, but it couldn't have belonged to him. Byakuya was fairly certain that he didn’t think those words.

**“Y-Yes! I remember!”**

That definitely wasn’t him. He squinted at the darkness. The voice matched that of Touko Fukawa.

**“Tell me it.”**

Byakuya’s arms tingled. His doppelganger said that huskily. He sat up, folded his hands on his lap and realised his palms were clammy.

The imaginary Touko inhaled noisily and recited her promise.

**“If I can keep Genocider Syo under control, then I will be promoted to a full member of Future Foundation!”**

Hesitation seized Byakuya and compressed his face into a frown. Earlier that day, him, Touko and their old classmates had spoken over lunch about how she could persuade the higher-ups to promote her. She had been griping about it ever since Future Foundation rescued them but was especially agitated about it on this occasion, and Byakuya threw out this suggestion between two sips of coffee.

His doppelganger’s voice rumbled.

**“That’s right!** **What you consider a burden, a secret shame, is actually a gift!”**

Byakuya didn’t say that. Would not say that.

**“A terrifying super power!”**

Or that. He separated his hands and balled them into fists.

**“Oh, Byakuya-sama!”**

Touko’s double said that. Her voice trailed off, dissolving into an echoing sigh. For as long as it rang out, goosebumps rushed through his skin.

**“Just being in your presence has brought me into a feverish high!”**

The real Byakuya did NOT say this, but it was said nonetheless.

**“D-Darling?”**

**“I... I must unload my white magma urgently!”**

His face twitched.

**“P-Please fill every crevice my body has to offer!”**

Byakuya arched his back as the two impostors moaned together and shamefully, he moaned along with them, one hand sliding down to his crotch. Regaining his senses, he slapped his hand over his mouth and flopped onto his back. Nauseous, he dragged his palm up to his forehead. Sweat soaked his body but at least he could no longer hear the parody of him and Touko.

With difficulty, he fell asleep. Byakuya told no one about his hallucination, nor about the others that plagued him after. He blamed Touko. They lined up with the sorts of fantasies that she mumbled like a mantra. From listening to her so much, he must have started having them involuntarily himself.

The alternative was that she was transmitting her thoughts to him, and that just couldn’t be possible. 

To his relief, over the next six or so months, the worst he experienced were nonsensical conversations about laundry, preparing dinners and proclamations of love. Annoying though they were, they only happened at night, when he was tired, and though he still considered her delusional, he tolerated them even when they became as part of his bedtime routine as brushing his teeth. 

Then, he went on a mission to Towa City and became confined to a cell. He thinks it might originally have been a storeroom, but for all intents and purposes, it is a cell that he currently occupies. For the first time in months, he doesn’t hear Touko’s voice for what feels like an entire day, despite him being exhausted from a lack of sleep. Byakuya wonders how long this will last but no one is there to offer any indication, so he stews in his thoughts on the dirty floor, slumped against the side of his bed.

With no windows and his pocket watch confiscated and likely broken if the red-headed boy followed through on his proposal that he and his friends use it as a hockey puck, Byakuya hasn’t the slightest clue what the time is. He rolls his head from one side to the other, eyelids drooping. After that small movement, he keeps his head tilted back. His shoulders sink. In a few hours, it might become two days since he arrived.

Then, just as he thinks he might sleep, his body shivers.

Byakuya stiffens, recognising the feeling instantly. Does this mean him not having them earlier was a fluke? Had he not been tired enough? Or....

...

... is she in Towa City too...?

No. Of course not. There is no way that she can transmit her thoughts to him. He decided that she couldn’t do that. The shivering and fantasies only occurred when he was tired, and he is tired.

For a while, nothing happens. In fact, Byakuya even manages to nap though he feels incredibly disoriented afterwards. Shortly after he wakes, he fixes his glasses onto his face, bleary-eyed, and spots limp green vegetables on a tray near the door. He turns his head away and grimaces when his stomach rumbles.

Other than the bed, the only thing close to furnishing is a bucket in the corner. The children referred to it as ‘the piss bucket’ that, unused, is just a regular bucket, but marks a blind spot in the security camera where they don’t have to see his ‘gross parts’. Only so he can give his paranoia temporary relief even though he suspects they aren’t really watching him in the first place, Byakuya has already spent minutes, maybe hours, at a time just squatting there, where he can know for certain that they can’t see him.

His stomach whines. Byakuya clenches his jaw. Determined to not be ignored, it gurgles hard enough that he shudders. He pictures Touko’s face, because he associates her with the feeling, and stares at the tray out of the corner of his eyes.

Starving threatens to become an understatement.

After his next, eventual sleep, he crawls over to the door. The food could be poisoned but he’ll die if he doesn’t eat anyway, and none of his trembling has conjured any voices so maybe no one plans to save him, not even Touko.

Byakuya decides to be angry about that and nothing else, especially anything that would imply weakness, and chews on the green mulch. As much as his gag reflex encourages him to spit it out, he forces it down and some time later, half the plate can be seen.

He lumbers over to the bed and collapses onto it, sprawled on his front. A few times, he heaves, and when something spouts into his mouth from his stomach, he swallows and curls into a ball.

Though he can’t be certain, he thinks he slept. The room always has the same dimmed lighting, which makes it difficult to tell. Byakuya wakes, if one assumes that he did sleep, but soon squeezes his eyes shut.

**“Fukawa!”**

His eyes rip open.

**“My prince, did they harm you?”**

There they are.

**“The ordinary man would have been broken by the Hell that I was dragged through, but I, Prince Byakuya, am no ordinary man! And those demons who tortured me-”**

Tortured is an exaggeration, though just barely.

**“- did not have what I have.”**

**“What was your secret?”**

Byakuya catches himself feeling curious and puckers his ajar mouth into a scowl directed at himself.

**“What kept me alive... was burning passionate love!”**

... He doesn’t know why he entertained the idea of it being anything else.

**“Fukawa, you have proved your loyalty... dedication... strength... After much thought, I have decided that you will birth my heirs!”**

**“I... I will!”**

Byakuya winces, the thumb side of one hand against his lips.

**“Your body won't be fertile forever, so we must get started immediately!”**

**“N-Now?”**

**“Please, give yourself to me!”**

She moans. 

**“Y-Yes, darling!”**

Last time when he was subjected to what seemed to be their foreplay, it became silent, but this time doesn’t end there. He hears Touko and both of him groan and imaginary needles press into his skin, all at once. His hips lift off the bed, and no matter how hard he scrunches his face, he still hears her. Not just her, but the other him too, though the impostor he could deal with. The impostor’s voice isn’t why he cups his crotch and applies pressure.

Byakuya splays out his hand and sits up. He sets that hand onto the bed, pushes himself onto his feet and strides over to the corner with the bucket, throwing his jacket to the floor along the way. In the corner, he crouches down, eyes vacant. Slowly, he slides his hand to the buckle of his belt, but he doesn’t unfasten it yet. 

Perhaps he won’t need to. Like he’ll change his mind, or wake up, or the room will burst into flames.

Instead, Touko’s sigh turns into a cry of pleasure, and she sustains the note as his zip crackles in its descent. Byakuya grits his teeth as he loosens his belt and cradles his length, trousers and underwear by his ankles. It stands erect. Already hard. Gross. 

He wraps his fingers around himself, gulps and loosens his grip. Next, he glides his fingers up and down, familiarising himself with this kind of touch. Ideally, he would be in bed, on a soft mattress in his apartment. Artificial light would thrum and he’d puncture the thickening air with infrequent grunts.

His eyes narrow at the reality of his current situation.

A few times in the past, he tried this out, having heard classmates discuss it during those two years still foggy in his mind despite the returned memories, but he rarely persevered to the end and needed to shower after them all, unfinished or not, and the slime that he felt in his palm would remain hours, days later, as persistent as the words that wafted around him growing up that instilled the notion that sex was taboo. Disgusting. For commoners, not the conglomerate head who only did it to give sperm to private clinics when heirs needed to be produced.

Never for recreation.

No bathroom exists here, with a shower to wash away his urges. Byakuya grasps himself and pulls. His bottom lip disappears behind a row of white teeth. He brings his other hand to the head of his length to swipe his thumb over the slit, and he quivers, not so much because of what he did but more from his awareness of what he did, what he’s doing, that thumps in his head like his heart in his chest.

Touko’s murmurs play on, uncaring of how long he stirs his thoughts in the deep pool of his mind, and when he surfaces, head tipped back as he jerks his hand, her sounds drench him.

The position he assumed doesn’t lend itself well. In a matter of minutes, his legs cramp. Byakuya drops into a kneel, seated against the curve of his heels. Face aflame, he tugs on himself harder, other hand pattering fingers against his tip and wiping liquid onto a nearby area of his length for his fist to smear down him. 

He shifts his weight, wobbling a little as he opens his legs more, and when Touko howls, he tightens his hold. Her voice reverberates and creeps down his neck. While he does what he’s doing, and he won’t be more specific than that, his mind wanders. Squatting in a corner isn’t sexy, or erotic, and he doesn’t want to think those words ever again. Actually, he doesn’t want to think of any words at all.

**“F-Fill me!”**

Byakuya huffs, but doesn’t acknowledge her. The other Byakuya doesn’t either. Wordlessly, his imagination blanks out his dirty surroundings. It doesn’t draw in a bedroom but offers him a pair of pale legs that straddle him, that bounce a crotch that exists in the same place as his fist. 

**“Fill me with enough for a dozen babies!”**

Touko’s imaginary crotch fades a bit, gaining transparency so he can see the bucket, the speckled grey flooring and the cracks between the tiles on the walls. Not that it is necessarily Touko’s crotch. It could belong to anyone. 

The dark purple curls on it smudge, lose definition. Honestly, no one could expect him to get off when she says things like that.

“Your body wouldn’t be able to take it,” he scoffs out loud. A dozen babies indeed.

**“It can, darling! You can depend on me!”**

His hand stops abruptly. Byakuya goes from boiling to ice cold, and opens his eyes wider.

“... Fukawa?” he asks.

**“Yes, dear?”**

He can talk to her. This, he knows, is not good.

“Refresh my memory,” he says quietly. “How did you save me?”

**“Ah, are we rehearsing for when our children ask about the circumstances of our marriage?”**

Byakuya has a great mind, but he either knows Touko better than he realised because that is definitely something she would say, or this really is her talking to him telepathically, and he can’t decide which one would be worse.

“Just tell me,” he says.

**“O-Of course... I followed you to Towa City and bumped into Naegi’s sister. With her as my steed, I rushed to your rescue. Those Monobear units didn’t stand a chance. Neither did those brats!”**

“I see.”

He resumes stroking himself. Touko doesn’t go back to moaning though, so he wonders if she disappeared. After his hand and the nonexistent crotch make a few more circuits, in which she hasn’t even panted, he hesitates, holding his breath. 

There is a beat of silence.

**“Are you... feeling all right, darling?”**

Oh. She didn’t go away then.

Byakuya fidgets with his glasses. “Hm?”

**“You’re acting differently all of a sudden... Did I anger you?”**

He flinches. Great. In this fantasy, he apparently replaced the other Byakuya. Took over for him.

**“I’m sorry... I’m sorry, sorry, sorry... P-Please, punish me as y-you see f-”**

“Stop,” Byakuya cuts in, brow furrowed. 

She does stop and he begins to seriously consider that somehow he has developed some kind of mind link with her. What he knows for sure is that he can’t let her know this. Besides, maybe if he plays along, if he accepts this part of him, then his mind will be satisfied and stop torturing him. 

Byakuya breathes shakily but manages to keep his tone relatively even. “I... was just taken aback by your incredible strength!”

For a chilling moment, he expects her to call him out, but she laughs and it’s such a pure noise that he almost feels dirty when he starts pumping himself again. Then she giggles and he visualises her smirk, her half-lidded eyes, and though he is less dirty in comparison to her, together, they bathe in the same abundance of filth.

**“I... I hope I didn’t alarm you!”**

“Not at all,” he says as he rubs his thumb over his slit on his slick head, slick with something that he pretends is not from him. His other hand, lurching up and down his length, wavers for a moment as he tries to catch his breath, but his heart won’t let up on its pounding and he remains as winded as before.

No. Worse. As more time elapses, his body increases in temperature. His hand twitches and he looks up from his fist and Touko’s crotch, for he finally admits to himself that he imagines not a mannequin but Touko riding him, and he stares at the breasts that his mind conjures. Bare, of an average size, jiggling as he thrusts into her warm, moist opening in his fist, fingers like ridged walls.

Byakuya licks his lips and slightly beyond, tasting sweat. Of course, he knows that she had to have them, and had even seen them on a morning that Touko swore to keep secret back at Hope’s Peak, but he didn’t think about them much after. Much.

Right now, all he can think about is how he wants to touch them. Knead them. Suck on them. Her breasts. The last random, abrupt thought makes his heart palpitate. His length throbs harder than before, at the idea of sucking on one of her firm, dark nipples.

“Fukawa,” he mutters.

She answers straight away.

**“Y-Yes?”**

Byakuya wets his lips more, face almost painfully hot. He may as well have fun with this. “If we are to be having children, I must ensure the milk that you will be feeding my heirs is worthy of the elitist of the elite...”

To be fair, he is very thirsty. And aroused. Not a good combination.

**“Of course! But... I should start lactating at least thirteen weeks into the pregnancy...”**

Really? Huh. If he didn’t need to be constantly stimulating himself, he would pause and cup his chin, but he can’t stop or else the tension in his crotch will tear him apart. Byakuya says, “But, my dear, I’ve been making love to you with our eyes for months... perhaps years... You must have become pregnant some time ago.”

He would glare at himself if it was possible, though maybe he wouldn’t because he doesn’t want to know how flushed his face is.

**“Oh... Oh! Y-Yes! I think... there’s some for you!”**

Touko leans into him as he brings the tips of his digits on one hand together, into a pentagon, and shoves them into his mouth, catching her breast between his lips at the same time. The hand that he sucks on had been toying with his tip, and his sweetness seeps into his tongue, mixing with his drool.

An added bonus of doing this is that his fingers muffle his embarrassing noises.

**“All this milk has made my breasts so heavy...”**

With his fingers wedged in his mouth and chewed on, talking clearly is impossible, so he mumbles that he will take care of her. When he can only taste his saliva, he whips out his hand to coat it in more of his liquid, and then he laps at his fingers again. His teeth dig into his digits, enough for them to burn after he relaxes his jaw, but he doesn’t relax it for more than a few seconds at a time.

Swallowing proves a struggle thanks to his fingers so he empties his mouth and reaches his hand down to his length, toward his pubic hair and then underneath, and underneath again where he fondles himself. Byakuya’s white shirt bears grey stains, expanding as his saliva splatters settle. He squirms, groaning at the sparks that rattle his body, and with his hands nowhere near his mouth, these noises go unfiltered.

**“T-That was just one breast, darling. Don’t forget to drink from the other too...”**

The fingers of his hand that hasn’t yet been in his mouth this session fly away from his length to flail against the head, covering them in his precum, and he inserts those into his mouth now. Touko squeals and she rocks, no, he moves his other hand up and forward to tug on himself. She isn’t real, not her thighs that hug against him, or how she slams into him, sitting on his lap as she, to put it crudely, fucks him. That’s what they’re doing. What he imagines they’re doing, when all prose is sifted through like how he longs for her fingers to comb through his hair.

His chest feels like a cage. Byakuya transforms her breast into her lips and kisses Touko, wiggling his fingers in his mouth, grunting and gulping and swirling his tongue. He rises but only so he no longer sits on his heels, so he can thrust into his hand more easily, glasses jumping on his nose.

**“I’m... I’m so close, Byakuya-sama!”**

So is he. So is he. Byakuya shows no mercy to his hand, ramming into it until he tenses and gasps her name and shoots all of the strain in his length at the corner of the room. Most of what he produces lands in the bucket, but some oozes behind it, against the walls that the bucket is tucked into. The rest sticks to his length and his hand, but that changes to just his hand, and then the salty substance sticks to neither with a final swallow.

He stands up and with his foot, nudges the bucket deeper into the corner. Afterwards, he hoists up his underwear and trousers, slips his length back in, zips himself up and, once he fixes the position of his knocked askew glasses, strides over to the bed. For the first time since he arrived, after he sleeps, he wakes up more refreshed than before.

Dirty, but refreshed.

Maybe now his imagination will give him a rest.

* * *

 

“... Hey, Fukawa,” he says a month later in his office, on call.

“Y-Yes, Byakuya-sama?” Touko asks, blushing.

He peers at her slightly pixelated face. “... When do pregnant women start lactating?”

“Huh? Why do you need to know that?”

“Just answer my question.”

“W-Well, it varies between people, but thirteen weeks is considered normal.”

The exact same number that she gave him in that fantasy.

“... All right. Thanks. Bye,” he says, and he hangs up before she can see his face turn as red as hers. He puts his phone onto his desk and hides his face in his hands.

She couldn’t ever know.


End file.
